CHAPTER XIX

DRIVEN BACK

A dismal, inauspicious day was January 4, 1907. Towards noon Islam Ahun appeared, half dead with weariness. He had left headquarters on the morning of the 2nd, and searched up and down the lake for us; had been on the west and on the south shore; and at last, following the most recent track of the sledge, had found us in our dell. He brought me a letter from Robert:

Yesterday, on January 1st, six armed men came to the camp, made a few inquiries, and went off again. To-day, the 2nd, they returned with some other men, and said the Governor of Naktsang had ordered them not to allow us to proceed further, because we had no passport from the Devashung, and that we must remain where we are. They wanted an answer from Master, in order to report to the Governor, who would communicate immediately with Lhasa. They are waiting impatiently for a reply, so I am sending off this letter.

After Islam Ahun had rested and eaten, he had to take back a letter to Robert at camp No. 97. Robert was to inform the ambassadors that I would not give an answer until I had seen them in person; if they were so anxious to hear it, they might come on the afternoon of the 5th to the northern shore at a distance of three miles from camp No. 98. If they did not, they must be answerable for the consequences. Muhamed Isa must come with them as interpreter.

Now matters were coming to a head. This time it was not a false alarm. Tidings of our journey had been sent to Lhasa, and we were in the hands of the Governor of Naktsang. I had put off the decisive moment in order to get time for at least one more line of soundings. If I could advance no farther in Naktsang, at any rate I would complete my investigation of the Ngangtse-tso. Afterwards the great retreat might commence. The intense excitement in which we had lived during the past months had now reached its culmination, and the Ngangtse-tso was to be the turning-point of our journey. I heard distinctly the creaking and grinding of the hinges as the great gates of the land of holy books, the forbidden land in the south, were slammed in my face.

At length we set off to camp No. 104, which was situated on the southern shore to the east of camp No. 99.

January 5. Every blade and stalk was covered with rime in the early morning when we marched over the ice in a direction north, 19° E. The day was fine and calm, the air pleasant, almost warm. Was the spring coming? Did spring set in so early in these more southern regions? It had seemed so far off that we had not thought of looking forward to its mild air while the long winter of Chang-tang still lingered in our limbs. We needed more warmth to thaw properly. The ice cracked and groaned wildly in the night, but it was not on that account that I slept badly.

Here the ice-fields form long waves; banks of water pressed up and then frozen, brittle as glass, came in sight every minute. The greatest depth, 32.9 feet, occurred when we were 6.6 miles from the shore, and was the deepest we sounded in the Ngangtse-tso. The lake is, then, deeper in the east; the west wind silts up its western half with sand and dust.

Half way across we saw a small dark speck on the ice in the direction of the Laen valley. It was the Hajji with a letter. The envoys had received fresh orders from the Governor of Naktsang. In four days he would appear in his own exalted person, and meanwhile his representatives were to watch us closely. Consequently they remained with the caravan, but they had allowed Robert and Muhamed Isa to transfer our headquarters to a place south-east of camp No. 97, where the pasturage was better. We had therefore freedom for a couple of days longer. The Governor of Naktsang! It was he who in 1901 had made me halt at the south side of the Zilling-tso. I could expect no mercy from him. On the contrary, I had on the former occasion given him so much trouble and annoyance that he would be furious at my return to his province.

On January 6 Ishe was so ill that the Hajji was obliged to take him home. Now we crossed the lake again in a direction north, 49° E. We had just arrived at our second sounding-hole when three men, who had followed our track, came in sight behind us. They made signs that we should stop, so fresh news must have arrived. We were able to cut out our hole and take a sounding before they came running up to us. They were Muhamed Isa with two other of my men, perspiring and breathless, and I invited them to make themselves comfortable on our lawn.

"What is the news?" I asked.

"Sahib, twenty-five Tibetans have pitched their tents round about ours. We wished this morning to move our headquarters to the shore, in order to be nearer to you. All the animals were laden, and we were about to set out, when the men came out of their tents and forced us to unload the animals again, and ordered us to stay where we were."

"Have you heard anything more of the Governor?"

"He is to be here in three days. Mounted messengers are coming and going daily, often several in one day, and they seem to ride fast. They are in constant communication with the Governor and send him reports."

"What do they say to my remaining away so long?"

"They are exceedingly astonished at it, and repeatedly ask us what the Sahib is doing out on the ice. They have had spies on the shore, and believe that the Sahib is dredging up gold through the holes from the lake bed."

"Are they civil to you?"

"Yes, but determined and immovable. They say that the Governor himself will decide our fate. Their number has been greatly increased during the latter days, they have provisions brought to them, and they expect further reinforcements."

"What is their intention, do you think, Muhamed Isa?"

"Ah, the outlook is not bright. They certainly intend to render our further progress impossible, and to force us to go northwards."

"We have to thank for this that ill-omened fellow on the Bogtsang-tsangpo, who has despatched an express messenger to Naktsang. If we come to a deadlock here, they must provide us with a new caravan, and we will travel to Pekin. There I will procure permission from the Chinese Government to travel through Tibet. How is the caravan?"

"All's well. A mule died the day before yesterday, and my black saddle-horse yesterday. Eight horses and a mule are left. The yaks are in splendid condition."

"We shall have plenty of time to rest at this lake, for if we have to negotiate with Lhasa, it will be a couple of months before the question is settled. Now, go back and remember me to the others."

We went on with our sounding and found a maximum depth of 27.4 feet. On the shore old banks were plainly perceptible; they have here been exposed to the breakers of the western storms. The highest might be about 50 feet high. There paced a solitary wolf, farther back 25 kiangs were grazing; they looked at us inquisitively for a long time, and then darted away as lightly and swiftly as the wind. We saw no sign of our porters, and on the shore, where we walked along the highest bank, we did not find a track. Why did they not signal by lighting a fire? At last we caught sight of them far off in a northerly direction. They were tired and lay down to sleep as soon as they reached land. I did not scold them, but Rabsang seized the first he could get hold of by the hair, and then gave them all a thrashing in turn, which, however, did not prevent them singing as merrily as usual in the evening.

Now my work on the Ngangtse-tso was finished, after marches over the ice aggregating 66 miles.

On January 7 the porters with all our belongings, except my tent, set off for headquarters. I waited for my riding horse, did not allow my mind to be disturbed, and was in no hurry to give myself up to the Tibetan militia--those horrid black riders who had so often interfered with my plans. No news came from Shigatse, no post from India. I had ordered it to arrive at the Dangra-yum-tso on the 25th of November, and now it was January 7. Had Ganpat Sing lost the letters, or had they never reached Leh? Was it, perhaps, impossible, for political reasons, to send me my letters from India?

I had to wait a long time. It was not till one o'clock that a man appeared with my horse, and at the same time a caravan of 50 yaks appeared on the inner terrace embankment, driven by Tibetans. We supposed that it was the Governor's baggage train, but the Tibetans said that they were natives of Laen, and had been attending the market in Naktsang.

We were three hours from the camp. Seven wild asses trotted in front of us for an hour; the wind was strong against us. Clouds of sand and dust swept along the bank, the icy surface became invisible, and the wild asses disappeared like ghosts in the mist. The light was curious and confusing, the ascent became steeper, and fresh hills continually appeared out of the dense air, which was like muddy water. Often a small troop of Goa gazelles sprang lightly past. We did not see camp No. 107 until we were close upon it.

A deep erosion channel running towards the lake. On its right flank are our four tents, looking eastwards. Muhamed Isa stands at his fire, his hands in his pockets, his pipe in his mouth (Illustration 66). All the others come out. The Tibetans peer out of their tents like field-mice out of their holes. Robert reports: "All quiet on the Shipka pass." The day before our horses, chased by wolves, had stampeded and had taken the Tibetan horses with them, but they were all found again in scattered groups along the shore.

I entered Muhamed Isa's tent; when I was seated the principal Tibetans were summoned. They presented themselves immediately, bowed low, and thrust out their tongues as far as possible; this time this original mode of salutation seemed to me a mockery. A man with a red turban, dark-blue fur coat, and a sabre in his belt, had been in 1901 in Hlaje Tsering's camp on the eastern shore of the Chargut-tso, when we encamped together, and he reminded me of that time.

"Is Hlaje Tsering still ruler of Naktsang?" I asked.

"Yes, it is he who is coming the day after to-morrow."

"Is he bringing with him as large a following as last time?"

"No; he perceived then that the troops of mounted men did not frighten you, and he trusts that you will be amenable to his wishes."

January 8 was spent in repacking the baggage, and on the 9th the Tibetans set up another tent, intended, they said, for the Governor's kitchen. At dusk two riders arrived, who announced that the Governor begged to be excused for not arriving at the stated time. He was an old man, had had the storm against him on the way, and could only travel slowly, but he would certainly be here on the evening of the 12th.

Then I sent for the chiefs of the Tibetans, and told them that they would not be admitted to my presence again if they did not speak the truth this time.

"Bombo Chimbo," they replied, "if the Governor is not here in three days you may cut off our heads."

"That is not necessary; it will suffice if you bind yourselves in writing to pay me a fine of ten horses if the Governor is not here in three days."

"We will give you twenty horses."

"No, ten are enough." And now the contract was drawn up and signed.

"Have you any fresh information?"

"Yes; the Governor has brought only his own twelve servants. He knows that the Bombo Chimbo is come back, for he received a letter from the Bogtsang-tsangpo, saying that the same traveller who had been there five years ago with a camel caravan was there again. Then he sent an express to Lhasa, and waited ten days for an answer, but at length decided to come himself."

Our patience was put to the trial again, as though we had not had already occasion enough to exercise it. At last, on the 11th, a small group of cavaliers appeared against the hills, and soon after a blue-and-white tent stood in the camp of the Tibetans--they had now seven in all. Then followed a party of mounted men, one of whom sat very much bent, wore a red _bashlik_, and was carefully wrapped in furs. "That is Hlaje Tsering," we were told. His followers carried guns decked with red pennants. They seemed very starved, quickly withdrew into their tents, and we heard nothing more of them.

January 12. All too soon a messenger came to ask if I would go to the Governor's tent, or whether he should first pay me a visit. I sent an answer that I would let him know when I could receive him. My poor storm-beaten tent was made as fine as circumstances allowed; there was no room for more than two guests, but frieze rugs and cushions were laid down for them, and between these seats and my bed a large brazier was placed, so that the old man might get a good warm. My messenger was just gone, when two horses were led up to the blue-and-white tent, and the old man mounted one, a young lama the other; the horses were led by the bridle, the other Tibetans fell in on foot, and the procession moved off slowly to our tents.

Hlaje Tsering, for it was really my old friend, came in a parade costume of Chinese cut, with a Chinese cap, decorated with two foxes' tails and a white glass button, and in boots trimmed with velvet and with thick white soles. On his silken robe with wide hanging sleeves he wore a short collar of otter skin, and in the lobe of the left ear a large earring of pure gold studded with round turquoises. When he appeared I went to meet and salute him. We at once recognized each other, exchanged warm greetings, nay, almost embraced, and remarked how singular it was that we should meet here again in the midst of the wilderness after five long years. Holding his hand in mine, I conducted him to the modest seat of honour, and invited the lama, his secretary, a son of the Yunduk Tsering of 1901, to take a seat. I sat cross-legged on my bed beside him, Robert and Muhamed Isa in the tent door, while the rest of the space framed by the opening was filled with a mosaic of Tibetan heads. Muhamed Isa, the interpreter, wore a robe of ceremony presented to him by Younghusband in Lhasa: it was made of thick, cerise-coloured Tibetan woollen material, and was confined round the waist by a coloured girdle; on his head he wore a tall gold-embroidered turban from Peshawar. He put us all in the shade with his finery (Illustrations 30, 95.)

After I had taken out a box of Egyptian cigarettes, and Hlaje Tsering had for a time examined everything in the tent, he said with a solemn, troubled manner:

"In my capacity as Governor of Naktsang I cannot allow you to proceed further, to Shigatse or in any other direction within the boundaries of Naktsang. Soon after the English expedition to Lhasa I received orders from the Devashung to allow no European in future, as formerly, to travel about in Naktsang. My instructions are that if any European forces his way into Naktsang it is the duty of my office to stop him and force him to turn back."

I replied: "It is impossible that the conditions remain the same as five years ago, when you held up my caravan with your militia of 500 men. Since then the Indian Government has concluded a treaty with the Devashung in Lhasa, and now the two Governments are on most friendly terms."

"Hedin Sahib, you will remember what took place last time. You were then so kind as to turn back at my request, but you do not know what befell me. All the expenses of the levy raised against you I had to pay, and the Devashung demanded from me 2000 rupees in addition. I was ruined, while my colleague, Yunduk Tsering, enriched himself by exploiting the people, and now lives, a wealthy man, in Lhasa. We are old friends, but I cannot expose myself to new vexations on your account."

"It is true, Hlaje Tsering, that we are old friends, but you cannot expect me to undergo another journey through Chang-tang on your behalf. I owned 130 animals when I left Ladak five months ago. Now, as you can see yourself, I have only 9. I will not be persuaded to return by the same way, and by the treaty of Lhasa you have no means of compelling a stranger by force."

"The treaty of Lhasa was concluded with England. You are not an Englishman but a Swede-_Peling_."

"You have the more reason to show me hospitality. England forced a war on you against your wishes; my country has not done so."

"You are right; your people has never injured us. But in my instructions no distinction is made between different nations. I shall certainly not force you to retrace your steps to Ladak by the long troublesome route by which you came; I know that this is impossible without a large strong caravan. It is of no consequence to me whether you succeed in reaching Shigatse or not, but you must not travel thither through my province. In Naktsang there is only one road open to you, namely, the one by which you came. I do not mind what road you take afterwards, and if you can force your way to Shigatse from the northern and western shores of the Dangra-yum-tso, that is not my affair."

"You know that the Tashi Lama was in India a year ago, and how well he was received there. He expects me in his capital, and no one else has the right to hinder me on my journey to him."

"Naktsang is under the Devashung, not under the Tashi Lama."

"The Dalai Lama took to flight when the English troops drew near to Lhasa. The Tashi Lama is now, therefore, Tibet's foremost Grand Lama."

"Quite right; we do not understand the action of the Dalai Lama, and do not approve of it. He should have been the first to protect his country from its enemies. But that has nothing to do with the question. I receive my instructions solely and only from the Devashung."

"And I shall not leave Naktsang until the Tashi Lama has confirmed your statement that the way is closed. I will, then, forward a letter to the representative of the Indian Government in Gyangtse, Major O'Connor, and if he replies that the political situation forbids my travelling further, I will leave Tibet. I will await his answer here, at the Ngangtse-tso. And I have another reason for this resolution. I am expecting letters from India, which are to be forwarded through Major O'Connor. You will understand that I am not disposed to leave Naktsang before the arrival of my letters, which will doubtless be sent on by order of the Tashi Lama."

"That is all very fine, but have you any proof that the Tashi Lama will assume the responsibility of forwarding your letters? You have no passport from the Devashung. Have you one from the Tashi Lama? It is not my duty to serve your pleasure. If I send your letter to Gyangtse on my own responsibility I shall lose my head."

"I will send two of my own Ladakis with the letter."

"No; the land is closed to them as much as to you. And, besides, how long do you expect to have to wait here for the answer? Several months?"

"Oh no; it is 165 English miles to Gyangtse, and the journey will not take more than twenty days, even with short marches."

"I shall not leave this place till you have started northwards and passed the frontier of Naktsang."

"And I will not start till I have received an answer to my letter from Gyangtse."

"You cannot possibly remain here long. You cannot feed your men; there are no nomads here, and those who dwell in the neighbourhood are poor as rats."

"I saw many tents on the southern shore and large flocks. At the worst we can live by hunting; there is plenty of game here. As I ask nothing but that you will allow me to wait here for an answer, you might oblige me so far."

"There you make a mistake. In my position neither Shigatse nor Gyangtse has anything to do with me. When the English had evacuated Tibet the Devashung sent a proclamation round to every _dzong_ (governor's residential town) in Tibet that we had certainly been beaten, but that we had lost none of our territory and were still masters over it, so that the old regulations with regard to European travellers were still in force. I will try to meet you as far as I can, and will now withdraw to my tent to take counsel with my people."

At the same time I held a council of war with Robert and Muhamed Isa. It was perfectly evident that we could not continue our journey southwards. On the other hand, it seemed possible that, making a detour to the Dangra-yum-tso, we might penetrate into the country on its west side, which was governed, Hlaje Tsering said, from Saka-dzong. Were we driven from there, we would direct our course to Pekin. Why? I am certainly very optimistic, but I had a conviction that I could befool the Chinese Emperor as Marco Polo did, and obtain his permission to travel about freely in Tibet, with some kind of special mission as a pretext. Muhamed Isa thought it was an enormous distance to Pekin, but Robert was enthusiastic about the journey. We would only take our best men; for the others I could procure permission to return to Ladak through Gartok. We should have a hard journey at first, but through Southern Mongolia we should fly on Bactrian camels like wild deer over the steppe. I would on no account return home vanquished. I tried to infect the two others with my enthusiasm, and depicted our camel ride as a fairy tale and a romance.

Now two of Hlaje Tsering's men presented themselves, bringing a dish of rice and a lump of butter as a present from their master. The secretary lama sent an apron full of rice. In return I sent Muhamed Isa with a whole piece of _pashmina_ cloth and a knife from Srinagar for the Governor, and a similar knife and a turban bandage for the secretary.

I returned the visit about three o'clock, accompanied by Robert and Muhamed Isa. Hlaje Tsering's tent was large and handsomely fitted up, and all his secretaries and servants were sitting round the fire, which blazed up towards the upper opening. At the sides lay sacks of rice and _tsamba_, and several whole slaughtered sheep; everything showed that the old man was prepared for a long stay. Guns with rests and pennants, sabres and lances, harness, bridles, saddles and saddle-cloths, lent a picturesque and warlike aspect to this chieftain's tent. Along the shorter side, opposite the entrance, thick cushions were piled up, and covered with small Lhasa rugs, and round cushions laid upon them served as supports for the back. I was invited to take my seat there beside Hlaje Tsering; a small red lacquered table was placed in front of us. On our right stood an altar shrine with gilded images of gods and _gaos_, small silver cases with figures of Buddha, which on a journey are suspended by a red strap from the shoulder. And before them flickered a wick, fed with butter, in a bright brass bowl.

A servant brought cups of Chinese porcelain on copper saucers and with silver covers. Another poured out of a picturesque tea-pot the thick tea mixed with butter which the Tibetans are so fond of, and which I now drank apparently with pleasure, though to me it tasted horrible--but Hlaje Tsering had lately praised my English tea.

The conversation was carried on calmly and agreeably as in my tent. But the negotiations made no progress, but rather the contrary, for Hlaje Tsering now said:

"I can on no account let you go to the Dangra-yum-tso; the lake is holy, and, besides, watchmen have already been posted there."

"The road to the east is also barred?"

"Yes, the country is entirely closed to you on the south, west, and east, and I cannot, as I now perceive, send you back to the north."

"Am I, then, to travel through the air, or sink down to the lower regions?"

"No, but you must wait here."

"And you will send my letter to Gyangtse?"

"No, I will not do that, but I will not prevent you from sending two of your men on your own responsibility."

"Will you sell me some horses for them?"

"No; then it would be said that we were in the same boat, and that I had allowed myself to be bribed."

"You are a fine governor, Hlaje Tsering; you cannot even sell me a couple of horses. I shall consequently have to send my men on foot, and they will take twice as long."

"Well, I will sleep on it, and let you know my decision in the morning."

Rub Das and Tundup Galzan received their instructions in the evening. They were to take a letter to Major O'Connor in Gyangtse, and a sum of money was given them, which was sewed up in their girdles for safe keeping. They were to start on their adventurous journey the following evening as soon as it became dark.